Chapter 3 - The Price of Loyalty
The rumors began to spread through Bellamy’s like wildfire.
By Tuesday, everyone from the kitchen staff to the coat-check girls was whispering about the "waitress who caught the mob boss’s eye." Some looked at Tessa with sudden respect, while others, like Carla the bartender, sneered whenever she walked past.
"You think you’re going to be a mafia queen, Tessa?" Carla whispered as they set up the bar for the dinner rush. "Men like Salvatore Marquette don't marry girls who wear Walmart makeup. They use them until they’re bored, and then they leave them in a ditch. You’re playing with fire."
Tessa ignored her, keeping her head down as she polished the wine glasses. But inside, her stomach was in knots. She didn't want to be a queen. She just wanted Danny to have a future, and she wanted, just once, to feel like she was seen.
On Wednesday night, the storm broke.
Tessa was walking home from her ASL class, her coat pulled tight against the freezing Chicago rain, when a black sedan pulled up along the curb of her quiet South Side street. The doors opened, and three men in dark jackets stepped out, blocking her path under the flickering street lamp.
"Tessa Whitlock?" the leader asked. He was a stocky man with a brutal face and a thick gold chain around his neck.
Tessa backed away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She reached into her pocket for her phone, but before she could pull it out, the stocky man stepped into her space, his hand catching her forearm in a crushing grip.
"Don't make a scene, princess," he muttered, his breath smelling of garlic and cheap cigars. "We just want to have a little chat about your VIP friend at Bellamy’s."
"I don't know anything," Tessa gasped, trying to pull her arm free. "I’m just his waitress."
"You’re the waitress he took for a ride in his private car," the man sneered, pulling her closer. "You’re the one he’s been signing to. The boss on the East Side—Mr. Valetti—he wants to know what Marquette is planning. He wants to know who his contacts are. You’re going to tell us what those pretty little hands of yours have been talking about."
"I don't know!" she cried out. "We talk about my brother! We talk about the soup! Please, let me go!"
The man raised his hand, his eyes darkening with violence. "Don't play stupid with me, girl. If you don't start talking, your little brother at the design studio is going to have a very bad accident on his way home."
The threat to Danny went through Tessa like a bolt of electricity. All the fear, the exhaustion, the years of holding her breath vanished, replaced by a raw, protective fury. She raised her foot and brought her heel down hard on the man’s instep.
He roared in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Tessa to wrench her arm free. She turned to run, but the second man caught her by the hair, dragging her backward onto the wet pavement.
Her purse spilled, her books scattering into the puddles. She screamed, her hands scraping against the rough concrete as she fought against them.
Suddenly, the headlights of another car blinded the street.
A sleek, black town car tore around the corner, its tires screeching against the wet asphalt. It didn't stop until it crashed directly into the front bumper of the attackers' sedan with a deafening crunch of metal.
The doors of the town car flew open.
Caleb, Salvatore’s massive driver, stepped out with a heavy iron tire iron in his hand. But it was the man who followed him who made the attackers freeze.
Salvatore Marquette walked into the rain. He wore no coat, only his black suit, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. His face was entirely devoid of color, his gray eyes burning with a primal, terrifying rage.
The stocky man pulled a gun from his waistband, but Salvatore was faster.
He closed the distance in three strides. He caught the stocky man’s wrist, twisting it until the bone popped with a sickening sound, and the gun clattered into the gutter. Salvatore didn't stop. He threw a brutal, short punch that broke the man's nose, sending him crashing to the pavement.
The other two men tried to rush him, but Caleb intercepted them, the tire iron swinging with lethal precision. Within thirty seconds, the three attackers were groaning in the mud, their sedan ruined, their bravado entirely shattered.
Salvatore did not look at them. He dropped to his knees in the rain, his hands instantly reaching for Tessa.
He didn't care about his expensive suit, the blood on his knuckles, or the water pooling on the asphalt. He gathered her into his arms, pulling her head against his chest, his heart hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against her cheek.
Tessa, he signed with one hand, his fingers shaking as he touched her face, wiping away the wet hair and the blood from a small scrape on her temple. Tessa, look at me. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?
Tessa fisted her hands in his wet lapels, her entire body shaking with cold and delayed shock. "They... they threatened Danny," she sobbed, forgetting to sign, her voice cracking in the dark street. "They wanted to know what we talked about."
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Salvatore understood her lips. His jaw clenched so tight the scar on his cheek turned stark white. He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her like a steel cage, shielding her from the wind and the rain.
"I have you," he murmured against her hair, his voice a low, rough sound—the first time she had ever heard him speak aloud. "I have you, Tessa. No one will ever touch you again."
